Not Sure if Better Love Story than Twilight
by someragingpacifist
Summary: But I tried. It is rated T, but M for later chapters which you may skip. Thanks!


_**I own nothing but the hands I used to write this.**_

A not-so-generic boy trudged around his lonely, dreary room, or rather, his cell, whispering words of hatred to himself, over and over until his throat hurt. "Why do you talk to yourself Ivan? I don't know, maybe because I'M ALL ALONE" he yelled to no one but himself. He managed to pry open the locked door with ease, sneaking out nimbly. He managed to get past the iron fences, smiling slightly at freedom.

Then he heard footsteps.

He ran. They ran faster. He sprinted. They sprinted faster. A deep voice yelled at him to halt, large hands grabbing at him. The boy didn't look back. He hid behind a corner. He knew he would be caught. He spotted a loose water pipe falling off, quickly grabbing it. As the man approached him, the boy swung hard, managing to knock the man down. He then smashed it into his skull multiple times, tears running down his frost-bitten cheeks. He ran, dragging the pipe behind him, his bloodstained scarf billowing behind him in the wind, his beige hair matted with freezing blood from the nights he spent imprisoned in this place they called a home for boys. Yeah right, more like a torture chamber. He was lonely, but at least he didn't have to suffer much longer.

Or so he thought.

* * *

><p>The world meeting had just ended, and Ivan stayed seated, lost in thought, his true, deep, innermost emotions and thoughts of how he was going to get through another day were masked by his normal cheerful smile. This smile soon faded as he saw the invisible one stand up to leave, looking down in sadness. Just moments later, this invisible one was stopped by a large hand on his shoulder, and a slightly intimidating voice with a heavy Russian accent clinging to every word that smelled faintly of vodka.<p>

"Matvey, stay after a moment so we can talk, da?" Matthew froze, trying to keep his composure while on the inside he was trembling. But it couldn't end _that _badly, right? Since when did he call him "Matvei"?

"Uhm s-sure!" said the Canadian, sitting back down by Ivan, in a closed off and insecure position. Ivan sat down right next to him.

"Is something wrong?" Ivan asked.

"N-no, nothing really… so what was it you wanted to talk about?" he replied hastily. The Russian man smiled warmly to him, not his ordinary fake smile that masked his true emotions.

"I was thinking we could make a… closer alliance, it would be beneficial to both of our countries. We help each other, team up, nothing more" he said. He then leaned in closer. "Unless you want" he whispered, moving back, a smirk tugging at his lips at the sight of Matthew's red face.

"I-I think an alliance would be okay, I guess…" Matt replied unsurely, not believing he just heard the words whispered in his ear. He found himself staring at Ivan, at a loss for words, but deeply knowing what he would have wanted to say. Ivan stood up.

"…Okay then. I will see you tomorrow then, da?" Ivan asked this with a hint of longing in his voice. The Canadian nodded and walked out behind the Russian, stopping when Ivan said one more thing.

"Come over tomorrow at noon." He said this without turning around, then continued on and walked away, leaving a confused Matthew in his wake, who wanted to run after him and just pour out his heart, but remained motionless, Kumajirou by his side, equally confused.

"Who are you?"

"Invisible."

That night, Matthew tossed and turned in his sleep, letting out occasional whimpers. All he could see was the countries all staring him down, expecting him to say something as they made angry faces. He tried to speak but nothing happened. They all got angry and pinned him down, saying that his decision was the most important and asking him why he wasn't even responding, if he really wanted the word to fall apart because he wouldn't answer. Ivan stood in the shadows, a hand over his throat, his eyes empty, blood dripping through his fingers. All Matt could hear were their voices, and the screams of loss. All he could feel was pain. All he could taste was blood. He woke up in a cold sweat, tears running down his cheeks. He squinted at the light stabbing like knives through the blinds. He glanced at his clock and then grabbed it, holding it close to his face. Quarter to 9… how had he woken up that late?! He set it back down, hastily putting on his glasses. He quickly made sure everything he had to get done in the morning was done before going back to his room. He stripped off his pajamas and underwear, starting the shower. He stepped in, sighing heavily as large beads of hot water struck his back, soaking his hair and giving him a few minutes of bliss in a steam-filled bathroom.

When he was done showering and getting dressed, he quickly brushed through his hair. The comb caught on his curl, causing the young Canadian to gasp. He set the comb down and headed out, grabbing his hockey stick before shutting the door behind him. He breathed in the cool spring air, happy that things were finally starting to warm up. He spotted his brother walking along the street.

"Alfie!" he called. His brother turned, his crazy grin reappearing on his face.

"Hey Matt! I was lookin' for you!" he replied, running over to his brother. He took out his own hockey stick, wondering why he had previously agreed to play hockey with his brother.

Matthew threw down the puck and shot it at his brother, who was soon taken out of his daydreaming. The puck had been shot harshly with such aim and happened to hit the American right between his legs, causing him to double over and fall onto the pavement, letting out squeaks of pure anguish, muttering something about Florida. Matthew tried not to burst out laughing at the accidental revenge he had finally gotten. Serves him right for throwing baseballs directly into Matt's face! He ran over to his brother who quickly stood up.

"I hate this! You're no fun to play with, you're too violent!" he whined at his brother. Canada clenched his teeth, his emotions flip-flopping all at once. He snapped at his brother with a loud voice no one had ever heard before.

"MAYBE NOW YOU CAN SEE HOW I FEEL! YOU'RE THE VIOLENT ONE WHO'S ALWAYS GETTING ME IN TROUBLE FOR STUFF _YOU_ DID! I'M FUCKING DONE WITH YOU!" And with that, the raging Canadian stormed off, leaving a petrified American behind.

* * *

><p>Matthew hadn't realized how much time he had killed by just walking around some random town, that is, until he looked at a clock. Quarter to noon. Crap. He ran quickly, checking a folded piece of paper in his pocket for the address. He kept running, taking a minute to think.<p>

Wrong way.

He swerved around, speeding up, rounding corners and finding shortcuts (that weren't entirely safe). He stumbled to a stop when he came by a house. He believed he'd seen it before as he walked up the steps. He timidly knocked on the door; a harsh, icy gust of wind enveloping everything in its path snaked by, leaving the young Canadian shivering.

Ivan was standing against the wall, thinking. What normal person would be standing against the wall when they could be sitting down or lying in their bed or doing something not very productive with their life, you might ask? (Yay run-on sentences) Well, Ivan had simply been talking to Lithuania and had just left himself after the conversation had ended.

He himself hadn't realized the time. He heard the wind whistling outside. His thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock at his door; it was almost inaudible. He took out his metal pipe in case it was someone he didn't want to see (Alfred) and walked to the door. With is pipe slung lazily over his shoulder, ready for use, he looked though the dew-covered window. He could see a faint figure that looked enough like Alfred. He opened the door and swung the pipe, just barely missing the Canadian's head by an inch and hitting the other side of the exterior doorway. Canada stood in his place, curled up a bit in a defensive position, only letting out a small squeak of fear. Ivan realized his mistake and tossed the pipe away discreetly, ashamed.

"Oh… Sorry Matvey. I thought you were Alfred" he states, the outside doorway now including a large dent in it. He allowed the other nation inside and closed the door. The smaller nation knew now that he'd made a big mistake just by how he was greeted. This was going to be awhile.


End file.
